The Art of the Deal
by Chanlin Marr
Summary: To prepare for the future, one must accept the past... (sequel to The Slow Burn)


**The Art of the Deal**  
By  
Chanlin Marr

  
  
Kenneth had always seen Elysium for what it really was: a battlefield. A social battlefield, to be sure, but an area to wage war nonetheless. "Elysium" indeed.  
  
The analogy of the social battlefield was an easy one for Kenneth Ashland to make, after the many and varied corporate takeovers and boardroom clashes that had dominated his life in the early 80's. Back then, when he wasn't making the latest deal, he was reading up on Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_. The same rules applied, after all, but you simply needed to replace the good of your _army_ with the thickness of your _wallet_. Unlife had done little to change his perspective.  
  
Well, that wasn't completely true. After all, literally having all the time in the world did wonders for one's outlook on "long term" goals. Where once he looked at interest compounded annually, he could now leisurely do the math by decades instead. He was still having to work on this new outlook: eternity to achieve success…perhaps, and more likely, multiple successes. And yet, he could not discount the here and now. Small missteps could just as easily destroy futures in his present existence, as they did in the old one. _What else did you have to define your life_, he thought, _if not your personal achievements; your personal legacy?_ Kenneth stopped there, and brought himself back to the here and now.  
  
On this night his Sire, Fredrick Allen II, Primogen of Clan Ventrue and trusted advisor to the Prince, was opening his highly polished oak doors to host the bi-weekly Elysium; that bastion of temporal civility among the predators of the night. Though by all rights the responsibility of the Keeper to see to such things, Kenneth had been put in charge of making most of the arrangements for the event, as was his Sire's command. After a week of preparations and triple checking, Kenneth was 99% sure that everything had been accounted for. However, whatever work was left was at the discretion of Ms. Patricia Mason, whose delicate sensibilities would no doubt find, or conjure, enough faults with Kenneth's work that she could justify her position for yet another pair of weeks.  
  
Kenneth sighed as he gazed out the windows at the glittering city, and found himself, as usual, amused that the act of sighing was now a much more deliberate affair than it had been those 20-odd years ago. Amused and slightly…sad? No. No, not sad. But he'd been…well, alive then, before Mr. Allen took more than a working interest in his business acumen. The switchover had, understandably, delayed Kenneth's plans for a proper memorial…a proper fulfillment of his promise to his parents. But…well, that could wait now, couldn't it? Besides, Mr. Allen needed his help if he was to-  
  
Kenneth's reverie distracted him just long enough not to hear the door to the "ballroom" (the temporarily converted 32nd floor) open behind him.  
  
"Ah. Primogen Allen," an airy and wholly feminine voice announced from behind him. Kenneth's slight jump at the surprise, as he quickly turned, was unfortunately quite noticeable. At the door stood the aforementioned Patricia Mason, whose lovely face went from a look of friendliness and respect to one of cold apathy at the revelation that Kenneth was, well, just Kenneth.  
  
"Oh. It's you Mr. Ashland," her tone decidedly more terse, "Mr. Allen had told me to meet him here to discuss final details before the guests arrive tonight. Do you expect him soon?"  
  
"Actually," Kenneth began, already recovered, at least visibly, from Ms. Mason's sudden appearance, "Mr. Allen put me in charge of the bulk of the preparations. He asked that I be the one to hammer out any last minute items with you."  
  
Ms. Mason nodded absently as Kenneth spoke, her practiced eye already scanning the place as she strolled towards the middle of the expansive room. Kenneth could almost hear the checkmarks being scratched out on her mental notepad.  
  
"Well, aesthetically, it's still just a floor in an office building," she mused, "but the alterations _you've_ made?" she looked at Kenneth. Kenneth nodded with a tight smile, completely willing to take credit for the choice in design. Ms. Mason shrugged slightly as her eyes returned to the assessment. "Well, they're definitely an improvement…but then crepe paper and balloons would no doubt have had the same effect."  
  
Kenneth nearly sighed again, but remembered that he didn't need to. _Do your worst you prissy bitch_, he thought. _You're just crabby because you can't take the credit for the flower arrangements this time around._  
  
The Keeper of Elysium flashed her gaze at Kenneth then, a look of pure _acid_ passing across her features, but then fading quickly as if through a conscious effort on her part.  
  
"Well then," she spat, "I suppose I'll just go over the security measures you've implemented for tonight, and then I can start greeting the arrivals at 9." She spun on her high heel with a slight snarl, her evening-gowned body swishing as she clacked forcibly out the door.  
  
Kenneth was bewildered. "What was that all about?" he muttered aloud. He shook the slight concern away. Probably nothing. Probably just a dilettante being a dilettante. Besides, Kenneth had more important matters on his mind, even beyond the mundane details of tonight's event.  
  
Mr. Allen holding Elysium here was, of course, not a random or magnanimous decision on his part. Well, not completely, anyway. No, like most actions taken by his Sire, tonight's get-together was a carefully planned maneuver. It was Mr. Allen's literal home-turf. And in any war, it pays to know one's territory.  
  
_Part II coming soon_  
  



End file.
